“My heart.” He shakes his head. “Wait. Never mind. You can keep it. I don’t want it.”
He is making absolutely no sense. “Why don’t you want it?”
“It hurts too damn much. All the time.” He rubs his chest, a slight grimace on his face. “This fucking sucks, Callahan.”
“You’re talking in circles. And your time is up.” I mean it. Yet again, I start to shut the door, and then he’s pushing his way inside, standing in the foyer right in front of me. In my house. Something I thought I’d never see.
Asher Davis in my home. The two of us all alone.
“You need to go.” My voice is firm, but my entire body is trembling. I’m afraid. Having him in my house is like an invitation to something I don’t understand. Definitely something I’m not sure I want to happen.
“Just hear me out, okay? I—” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends. “You’re all I think about.”
I blink up at him. When did he get so tall? He’s always been tall, everyone’s tall compared to me, but I swear, he just keeps growing. Keeps getting broader too—
Wait a minute. Did he just admit I’m all he thinks about?
“I wake up and you’re on my mind. I go to sleep thinking about you. Sometimes I even dream about you, and those are always a trip, because we’re usually together, and I’m doing my best to fuck it up, yet you stick around. Like you’re really into me or something.”
His words are sort of breaking my heart.
“I try to see you at school, even if it’s just in the hallway, and my day is automatically better when I spot your smile. Even when you’re smiling at Ben, it doesn’t matter, because you look so happy, and that’s all I want for y—”
“You need to stop. Please, just…stop talking.”
He blinks slowly, as if he’s trying to absorb what I just said. “What do you mean? I’m telling you how I feel about you and it’s like you don’t care.”
“You don’t really feel that way about me. You just want what you can’t have.” I cross my arms, which reminds me I’m not wearing a bra. Thank God my T-shirt is oversized. Hopefully he can’t tell. “That’s all. I’m with someone else, and now you want me. You had your chance last year when I liked you, and you let it go. You let me go. That’s on you.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and for some weird reason, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s as if we need the break, we need to absorb our words, our feelings.
“I really had a chance last year?” He lifts his brows.
Did he really believe he didn’t?
“Yeah,” I admit. “You did.”
Ash shakes his head, running his hands through his hair once again, tugging the strands into a complete mess. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” He waves a hand between us. “A relationship.” He says that last word like a curse.
“We’re not in a relationship. We can’t be. I’m with Ben,” I remind him yet again.
He squints, cocking his head to the side. “Are you happy with him, Callahan?”
I stand a little straighter. “Of course I am. At least he calls me by my first name.”
“Is that all it takes to get you to jump ship and be with me? For me to call you by your first name?”
Pretty sure I haven’t heard him call me by my first name since the first day of our sophomore year when I insulted his dead father. “No, of course not.”
Ash glances around the foyer, tilting his head back to study the light that hangs on a chain all the way from the second floor. Whistling low, he shakes his head. “Your house is huge.”
It is. I don’t like a lot of people coming over to my house, since they tend to get dazzled by it. Mom and Dad are worth a lot of money. Dad came from money, and his NFL career gave him a big paycheck. So big, he’s worth hundreds of millions. Plus he got endorsements, and neither of them ever have to work another day in their life ever again. My college is paid for, no problem. I have everything I could ever want.
Sort of.
Strangers seeing our wealth always ends up awkward. This is why I hang out at my friends’ houses. Kaya will come over sometimes, and Ben has only been here once.
He looked as shell-shocked as Ash does now.
“You should probably go,” I start, but Ash keeps talking.
“You got anything to drink in this house?”
Now he keeps walking. I chase after him. “Where are you going?”
“Looking for a kitchen.” He stops at the hallway, turns to the left, and heads right for the very room he’s looking for. “I’m thirsty.”
“You’re not supposed to be here, remember?”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“If my father finds out you’re in this house uninvited, he’ll hurt you.”
Ash ignores what I say, striding right into our open-concept kitchen—that’s what Mom calls it—like he owns the place. “Damn. This kitchen is niiiice.” He looks around, then makes his way to the refrigerator. He opens the doors and peers inside. “You got beer.”
“You can’t have one of my dad’s beers.”
“I won’t drink your dad’s beer, chill.” He pulls a can of Coke out of the fridge and hip checks the door, slamming it shut. “Thanks for the soda.” He cracks the can open, then proceeds to drink at least half of it in a couple of swallows.
God, he’s so irritating. He makes absolutely no sense. He claims he has feelings for me, then wanders off in search of a drink. He goes from one subject to the other so fast, I’m going to end up with whiplash.
Resigned with the fact that he’s going to stick around for a while, I turn on the kitchen lights, illuminating the space to the point of it being almost too bright. “Kill the mood, why don’t you,” he mutters as he takes another swig from his Coke can.
“You’re not even supposed to be here.” I hop up on one of the barstools, resting my arms against the edge of the quartz countertop. “Seriously, Ash. My parents will be home soon, and if they find you in here, we’re both dead.”
“Then I’ll at least die happy.” He cracks a smile, but I just glare at him. “Don’t you have a sense of humor?”
“No, I do not. Not when a boy I don’t like is in my house, acting like he lives here.” I tilt my chin up, hoping he thinks I’m acting like a snobby princess so he’ll leave.
You don’t want him to leave.
Yes, I do. I really, really do.
“A boy you don’t like.” Ash snorts with disbelief. “You’re so full of shit, Callahan. You jumped my ass first in the truck last night. You were rubbing against me like you wanted to get off on my leg, and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. So don’t tell me you’re not into me. You are fucking dying for me to touch you right now, and you know it.”
His little speech leaves me breathless. With anger. With—oh God—with lust. “You love rubbing my face in my mistakes, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” He truly appears confused.